The Story of a Hero, completed version
by Clara Maplewood
Summary: I worked very hard on this, and I hope that you enjoy it! Please r/r, I love to have everyone's opinions. Constructive critisism accepted with open arms.


The Story of a Hero  
  
March, 1950  
  
As the beaker of veritaserum was pulled, empty, from the Muggle woman's lips, her face relaxed considerably.   
  
"Can you hear me?" Said the inquisitor.   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Can you understand me?" Said his young companion.   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Good. Now tell us, in all detail, what happened this evening."   
  
She took a shaking breath. Even the veritaserum could not calm every memory of this. "I was standing at the stove of my apartment, boiling water for spaghetti. Before I knew it, a man in a long black cape and a mask grabbed my shoulder and pointed a long wooden stick at me. He started to say something. I was too fast for him and threw the spaghetti water into his face before knocking him unconcious with the pot."   
  
A light in his blue eyes twinkled at this, and, had he not realized the gravity of the situation, he would have smiled. "Then...what happened?"   
  
She took another breath, this time with a sense of death rattle, released it, and proceeded to tell the horrific tale. "Michael came out; you know, the man I'm living with, and suddenly, some of the people in masks grabbed him from behind, held their wooden sticks to his throat, and...and the man with the black hair and red eyes...he...yelled something, and there was a flash of green light...and then he turned to me..."   
  
This story continued through territory that made the questioner's young companion gasp in horror, clutching her tight black hair until he turned his firey blue eyes on her silencingly. At long last, the Muggle woman fell silent, gasping with sobs.   
  
His face was like a marble mask with two saphires burning through it. "Minerva...what do you think?"   
  
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she said, "Albus, will he stop at nothing? This is outrageous. What can we do?"   
  
"Not enough. What's done is done. Go ahead, Minerva."   
  
She stood up wearily, steadied herself, and took out her wand. Just before she reached the sobbing woman, she paused and turned to Dumbledore. "I never want to do this again. Please don't make me keep this job. I wasn't cut out to be an Obliviator, you know that."   
Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "You can take a job at Hogwarts."   
  
Minerva let out a breath slowly, pointed her wand at the face of the woman before her, and yelled "Obliviate!" She whirled around. "Dumbledore, what if...?"   
  
"She will automatically believe it was Michael. Poor girl; she'll never see him again."   
  
"And what about how Michael himself died? What will we tell her then?"   
  
His auburn-gray beard shimmered in the firelight as he got up to his feet, sighing. "We will give her evidence that he receieved fatal burns from the boiling water."   
  
"I always feel so stupid, feeding deliberate lies to these poor Muggles."   
  
"They're happier like that, Minerva. They truly are."   
  
August, 1961  
  
A thud at the window awakened a red-haired 11-year-old girl early one summer morning. She groggily wiped sleep from her eyes and blinked in the direction of her younger sister, Petunia, snoring loudly in a bed across the room. Then she turned to the rectangle of light that was their bedroom window and gasped, suddenly wide awake. She leapt over and undid the latch. In flew a large, handsome gray owl, which deposited a letter on her vacant pillow and hooted officially before exiting as abruptly as he had entered.   
  
"What a peculiar way to deliver a letter," She thought. As a matter of fact, she was rather frightened. She never really received post, unless it was her birthday or Christmas. But still...it seemed innocent enough...what could be the harm? She swept her small frame onto the edge of her bed and let her feet dangle a good six inches above the ground as she inspected the letter, whispering to herself. "What on Earth could it be?" There was purple, loopy writing on the front that read, simply, "To: Lily Evans." the envelope was made of a grainy substance she knew instinctively to be parchment. Turning it over, she saw a purple seal with a snake, badger, eagle, and lion engraved on it. With trembling hands, Lily broke the seal and opened the letter. Inside it said:   
  
"To Ms. Lily Evans:   
  
My heartiest congratulations to you for being accepted as a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! Please find enclosed a list of needed supplies and approximate costs. Term begins September first, at which time you should be at King's Cross Station, Platform 9 3/4.   
  
Minerva McGonagall   
Deputy Headmistress"   
  
Lily sat, open-mouthed. She re-read the letter several times and then tore out the supply list. It was true! She was going to a place to learn..."Magic!" She breathed the word rather than said it. "Oh, wow! Mom! Dad! Petunia! Look at this!"   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
September First, 9:00 p.m.   
  
She had seen so much and made so many new friends already. There was the bold James, the shy Peter, the haunting Sirius, and the strangely mysterious and secretive Remus. They seemed certain that they would be put in Gryffindor, which seemed to be the best of all. Lily, however, glowed at the prospect of being in Ravenclaw...imagine, being recognized above all other qualities for intelligence! She sighed in anticiapation as the clamoring crowd of first years gathered in the Entrance Hall. Then, a stern-faced woman with tight black hair stalked onto the stage, carrying a stool, a scroll, and...a tattered old hat. Strangely enough, the hat began to sing.   
  
Once it was finished with its song, and the students were finished applauding, the woman read a name from the scroll.   
  
"Bartmane, Sara!"   
"Camphor, Terry!"   
"DiMarco, Cindi!"   
And many more besides. Then, McGonagall's spectacled eyes flicked downward as she drew breath to read the next name aloud. "Evans...L-lily." She swallowed as if the name brought about a flood of memories she did not want to have. As Lily passed McGonagall on the way to the hat, she heard a different voice come out of the woman's mouth, a soft, gentle murmur: "You look like your mother, Lily."   
  
This caused Lily to stop momentarily in her tracks. How did this woman, who Lily had never seen before, know her mother? Mrs. Evans, though rather forgetful, was Muggle through and through. How had they met?   
  
Before she knew it, though, her legs had carried her to the stool. The last thing she saw before the hat was dropped over her eyes was James mouthing "good luck," his deep blue eyes shining under his tangle of black hair, and Lily got a funny little tingle in her stomach.   
  
"Hmmm," said a voice in her ear. "Hmm. This is interesting...you want to be in Ravenclaw? Well, you are well-suited for it!" And he was about to yell "Ravenclaw!" to the whole assembly, but..."Oh, my goodness. Oh, my dear goodness. Can I get you out of this? No...what would Salazar say, though? A half-blood, I see..."   
  
"What?" thought Lily. "I'm muggle-born!"   
  
"No. You can't know, though...not now. Please forgive me, Lily...SLYTHERIN!"   
  
Her stomach gave a horrible lurch. Slytherin? What was the Hat talking about? She wasn't destined for Slytherin? Maybe she hadn't heard right...so she remained sitting there, thinking her concerns rapidly.   
  
"I'm sorry, Lily, I can't get you out of this! You are...his last remaining heir...go to the Slytherin table...good luck."   
  
And then the voice fell silent.   
December, 1964  
  
The snow cascaded wildly around the impregnable Hogwarts castle. Try as they might, the   
icy flakes couldn't seem to pierce its warmth and candlelit glow. Most students were glad to be inside, shivering and drawing their robes closer around them whenever they looked outside. One student, however, wished she was out in the storm.   
  
Instead of paying attention to Professor McGonagall, a certain fourth year girl tossed her long red braid over her shoulder and leaned her flushed cheek against her hand, staring longingly out the window.   
  
McGonagall paused and looked in her direction. "Lily," she said gently. "Lily, could you please attend to the lesson?"   
  
Lily's focus reluctantly turned to this teacher who had always treated her like a fragile blown-glass ornament. "I'm sorry, Professor."   
  
"That's all right, Lily, just try to stay focused."   
  
"Yes, Professor." She turned bright red under the snickers and leers from her fellow Slytherins.  
  
It had been like this every single day since she had been Sorted. Why couldn't she have been in Ravenclaw or something? Why did she have to be in Slytherin? Her arms were pinched, her hair was pulled, and her kindness (or "weakness," as it was called) teased at least once a minute, even when she was asleep. The taunts visited her in her dreams. There was only one consolation for her: Double Charms with the Gryffindors. She always was partnered with James Potter, and at the slightest glance from the Slytherins, he would stare defiantly back, until they quailed under his midnight-blue laser beam stare. Even though James was a hopeless case when it came to Charms, he always laughed at himself, and that made Lily laugh, because she was top of the class in Charms.   
  
Which is why, when the lesson ended, Lily actually smiled and gathered up her books faster than usual. She dashed out the door and up to Professor Flitwick's class. When she got there, the room was already half full of Gryffindors, and there, nearest the window, sat James. This wasn't just any port in a storm for Lily, it was HER port, the place she felt she had a niche. Before she knew it, her legs had carried her over to the desk next to James. "Hello!"  
  
"Hi." He mumbled.   
  
"Something wrong?"  
  
"No."   
  
"Well, something's going on. Usually you're bursting about an adventure you had with Padfoot, Moony and-"  
  
"Shhhh! That's a secret, you know that!"  
  
"Oh, right. Sorry."   
  
James bit his lip tensely with one half of his mouth, but smiled with the other.   
  
A grin spread across Lily's face. "What?"  
  
"Um...Lily? You know there's going to be a Yule Ball, right?"  
  
"Sure I do! I've been looking through Witch Weekly for hairstyles since September!"  
  
"Well...wangoballwime?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Do. You. Want. To. Go. To. The. Ball. With. Me."   
  
Lily was shocked. She must have looked angry or something, because James's face fell. "I knew you wouldn't want to. That's o.k..."  
  
"No! No, I...I'd love to."   
  
"Really? No joke?"  
  
She laughed at the look on his face. "No joke, James."   
  
And they began the lesson happily.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
(13 years later)  
  
A crowd of wizards and witches, all bearing wands firmly, approached the house.   
  
James glanced over at Lily with apprehension in his eyes. They had just been married. It was a typical Auror's wedding of the day, with white roses adorning every inch of the church. Even so, as soon as they had said "I do," there was a flash of red light and every rose turned black. Lily had never been much for Divination, but James knew that a black rose was the symbol of death. It didn't help to know that he was Voldemort's double foe; he was the last remaining heir of Gryffindor, and he was also an Auror. Did they have to be called on a raid so soon after such an ominous event?   
  
Alastor fixed his blue eye on the door. "All right," He growled. "They're asleep. Wands out, everyone..."   
  
James whispered a quiet prayer under his breath. "Please...don't let it end now...it's only begun..."  
  
"GO!" On Alastor's command, everyone ran to the door and blew it to splinters. Any second, they could see the flash of green light...hear the sound of death on wings...and it would be over. "Don't let them get away!"   
  
There were cries of "Antiparate!" a spell that prevented the victim from Apparating or Disapparating. The wizards inside woke up quickly and groped for their wands in the darkness. It was always hectic like this. Both Wizard's duels and fist-fighting took place during raids, and people, not just Death Eaters, got hurt. "Ferula!" "Manaclave!" binding enemies with ropes and chains. Suddenly, a deep growl issued from a masked wizard's mouth: "Crucio!" James suddenly felt as if his insides had been hollowed out and replaced by burning hot coals. He was screaming, on the floor, writhing in pain, and it still wasn't over! He was yelling, he didn't know wether mentally or actually screaming it aloud. "End it! Get it over with now!" It was the worst sensation he had ever felt. Slowly, but not painlessly, the horrible feeling died away. Through blurred eyes, he saw Lily, delicate Lily run in front of him and yell "Stupefy!" at the Death Eater. Down he went like a ton of bricks.   
  
James got shakily to his feet as the room grew quieter. Lily's robes were torn at the shoulder, Alastor had some new scars on his already warped face, and the whole party was in a state of disarray. Every Dark Wizard in the place, however, was down on the floor, either passed out or tied up.   
  
"Everyone all right?" Moody growled  
  
There were several tired, weak calls of "Yes."   
  
"All right, then. Move out!" Everyone used "Mobilicorpus" on a Death Eater and soon they were at the headquarters of the Ministry of Magic, in the courtroom.   
  
During the trials, as Crouch's eyes bulged as he sent Death Eater after Death Eater to Azkaban, Lily and James both shook their heads disapppointedly. They both wondered what would drive anyone to turn so bitterly evil; what would turn anyone to the side of Lord Voldemort.   
  
  
November, 1979  
  
It was a pleasant evening in the Staff Room at Hogwarts. Pumpkins and corn stalks adorned the walls, and breezes that seemed to be left over from a summer that wouldn't quit drifted lazily through the window. Albus Dumbledore sighed and leaned back contentedly. It was times like this that made him almost forget the terror befalling wizardkind at that time. Such violent slaughter of Muggles and wizards alike...when would it end? COULD it end? The feeling of contentment left him in a sick rush. What if it didn't end?   
  
Sybill Trelawny stared at him intently from across the table. "Headmaster...you are pensive. What troubles you?"   
  
Dumbledore didn't like to share his deep thoughts with other teachers, besides which Sybill was always rather annoying to him. He quickly re-lit his face and tried to concentrate on the beautiful weather. "Nothing troubles me but dragonflies, Sybill," he said, smiling under his beard at his little joke that she didn't understand.   
  
"Ah, but this is a dragonfly you have been troubled by for a while now, isn't it, Albus? Perhaps a dragonfly nobody wants to say the name of?"   
  
"Your turn of the phrase amuses me quite a bit. Indeed, I am thinking of Lord Voldemort."   
  
She flinched ever so slightly at the sound of the name. "Well...don't you mind, now. I've been seeing sun after sun when I crystal gaze. Great happiness coming for us, great happiness!"   
  
"I do hope so, Sybill." He sighed. "I do hope so." Dumbledore rose and turned to leave. Suddenly, a harsh voice rang out from behind him.   
  
"The Dark Lord's Grandson will rise up against him!"  
  
Dumbledore whirled around. How could she know? It might just be a trick...but no. She had gone rigid, her eyes rolling and mouth slack.   
  
"The Dark Lord rises to greater hights than ever before...but he will be defeated! By his grandson's power, Voldemort will be defeated! His parseltongue, Gryffindor grandson! The Dark Lord...will be defeated...by his grandson..." And then she sank into a faint. Dumbledore's eyes were open as wide as saucers in undignified shock. So she wasn't such a fraud after all! She knew that Lily and James were married...she knew that Lily was Voldemort's daughter...she knew that James was the last remaining heir of Gryffindor.   
  
Well, he thought, eyes twinkling, now I know they're going to have a baby.   
  
A man with a hooked nose and greasy hair slipped silently out of the Staff Room without Dumbledore noticing and ran off the Hogwarts grounds. There he Disapparated and reported to a mysterious, cloaked figure.   
  
"My Lord...a prediction has been made."   
  
A high voice spoke. "What prediction?"  
  
"By the Divination teacher at Dumbledore's school. She is a fraud, but this was real, I am certain."  
  
"Speak quickly. I have not the time for the predictions of frauds."   
  
"It was rather long winded, but the general meaning was that your grandson would defeat you." The man recoiled as the skeletal foot of his master shot out at him.   
  
"Fool! I have not even a wife, let alone a child or grandchild! Unless..."   
  
"Unless what...my Lord?"   
  
Again, the hooded figure kicked out. "Do not ask questions! Leave me now!"  
  
The cowering man scuttled away, ready to once again play the role of double agent. However, Lord Voldemort was thinking hard. Had it ever come to pass, in his lifetime, that he could have had a child? His cold brain practically cracked like ice from the crunching of his memory. Wait...that Muggle woman! She hit Malfoy over the head with a pot of boiling water before...Voldemort cursed bitterly. Folly! Sheer folly! He had to find that woman...her child...and his grandson in turn.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
October 29, 1980  
  
"...So, I highly reccomend using Pettigrew as your secret-keeper instead."   
  
Lily hugged her 2-month-old son to her shoulder tightly. "But Sirius is James's best friend...he's like a brother to him!"   
  
"Lily, haven't you been listening? Sirius is the first person Voldemort would expect; it's really only logical. However, Peter is low-profile and not very...vital to any major plan. Please trust me. It's for the greater good of everyone."   
  
"Dumbledore. I can understand that I'm the last heir of Godric Gryffindor. But...you're hiding something. Something else that you don't think we want to know. I can tell," said James, staring the silver-bearded headmaster in the eyes. "It's about Lily, isn't it?"  
  
Dumbledore sighed and stood up, walking longingly over to a cabinet before turning to face Lily and James. "This is difficult. Lily, I was in the Staff room last year...and Sybill went rather strange on me. Made a prediction that Voldemort's grandson would rise up against him and defeat him. Of course, I knew she couldn't have known...but..." He opened his mouth and drew in air to say something, then looked pensively upwards before closing it again. This was repeated several times, and then he let the information go. "Lily, you are a half-blood. Not muggle-born. Only the mother you know is your true parent, not your father. Your father...his name is Thomas M. Riddle."   
  
James's mouth dropped open. He was sitting next to Lord Voldemort's daughter! "Wait...are you certain?"   
  
"I wish so much that I wasn't. Lily, you are indeed the Heir of Slytherin. Or rather, Harry is. He is also the Heir of Gryffindor. Do you see now? That's why you were put in Slytherin, and somehow Voldemort found out about the prediction, and...we have to protect you from his wrath. He will only want Harry's life when he comes looking for you; probably will only kill you if you get in his way."   
  
Lily set her jaw firmly. "I won't let him take my son, father or not. Do you understand me? I will not let him kill Harry." She stood up and clutched her son to her shoulder so hard that he whimpered a little.   
  
James stood up beside her. "Neither will I. So tell us what to do, Dumbledore, and we'll do it."   
  
Later that day, the Potters went into hiding in Godric's Hollow and the Fidelius charm was performed on Peter Pettigrew.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
October 31, 1981  
  
Lily sat on the floor, playing with Harry. James was sitting on the couch, drowsy after the large dinner they had just finished. Lily scooped up Harry and played a little game with his messy bangs, saying a rhyme while she traced shapes on his forehead.   
  
"A heart for the love I have for you  
A star for the star you are   
A smile for happy face oh, so true,   
And a lightning for magic-"   
  
She was cut off by the sound of crackling wood and screaming. Some screaming as if in fear, but others yelling "MORSMORDRE!"   
  
The Potters leapt to their feet, looking out their window. Every house in the village was alight, and Dark Marks hovered everywhere. James whirled on Lily. "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"   
  
Lily looked up at James and knew that this could be the last time she ever saw him. She stood on her toes and kissed him before stumbling out of the room frantically. The door burst open, and there stood a pale, laughing man in a dark cloak. He yelled in a high-pitched voice, "Crucio!" and with that, the horrible burning pain he had felt years ago returned to James's body like an infection. "Fermata!" NO! screamed James's mind. That gave the curse power until Voldemort decided to end it! He saw the tall figure brush past him and in the direction that Lily took Harry.   
  
She turned around and screamed. There stood the Dark Lord. And, she realized with a sickening feeling, her father. Lily put Harry on the floor behind her and covered her son with her own body.   
  
Voldemort paused instantly, almost shocked that he was actually seeing his own daughter. He didn't have to kill her, just the boy. "Don't be a fool, girl. If you let me take the child, you needn't die."  
  
"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please--I'll do anything--"   
  
"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"   
  
"Not Harry, Not Harry, please not Harry!" She struck out at his shins with her wand.   
  
"Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside now!" He grabbed the wand and snapped it over his knee contemptively.   
  
"Not Harry, please no, tkae me, kill me instead-"   
  
He tried to shift her bodily, but she grabbed onto the window ledge and hung on for her life...or death. "Not Harry! Please...have mercy...have mercy..."   
He stopped. There was nothing left to do. He laughed shrilly, insanely. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" There was a flash of green light and a sound of rushing wings, and the next thing he saw was Lily's rigid body with a look of shock pasted on her face.   
  
Voldemort moved it to one side as one would move a log of firewood. There he saw a little baby boy with a tuft of black hair, bawling his lungs out. Again, Voldemort laughed. This was easy! Two words and his power would be free of threat! He raised his wand and pointed it at Harry. "Avada Kedavra!" The flash of green light came, but after that it was nothing but darkness for the Dark Lord. He was a senseless cloud, floating lazily out the window and into the night.   
  
Shortly thereafter, a rat skittered into the house to make sure things were all right. Once inside, he looked around at the chaos and turned into his true form, a middle-aged man with a look of a rat around him. There was James Potter, his one-time friend, screaming from the Cruciatus curse. That was of no consequence to him, except...why wasn't James dead now? He dismissed that and moved onto the next room. There was Lily, lying dead on the floor, but...what was this? The baby boy was still alive and crying. "Master! Master! Where are you?" Wormtail's panicked shouts resounded in the empty house. What could have happened? He grabbed Voldemort's wand and ran back into the other room. "Avada Kedavra!" He squeaked at James's prone form. "Reducio! Reducio!" he whispered, shrinking his and Voldemort's wands down to sticks he could fit under his thumbnail...or between his teeth. He transformed into a rat again and did just that, putting the wands between his back teeth. He scurried off and ran in the direction of London.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
August, 1984  
  
A tall, lanky, red-haired man with a son to match walked into the Magical Menagerie. "Well, Percy, it's your first year. What kind of pet do you want?"   
  
Percy swaggered around the shop. "A rat. Cats make me sneeze, owls are stupid, and toads are just old-fashioned." He picked up a rat. "This one's good."   
  
Mr. Weasley paid the money and left. The rat squirmed, trying to get away.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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